Page 40 of The Wallflower

I slow as I approach the security gate and walk the bike to a set of nearby bushes on the off chance that someone drives by and recognizes my bike. I don’t need anyone calling my father and telling him shit. My boots crunch against the pavement as I walk up to the guardhouse. Bill is standing guard as he typically does, his features tight, his eyes sweeping the front of the property. Bill is one of the nice guys, in his early forties and fairly built. He took the job here five years ago after the last guard mysteriously disappeared.

I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. I pass it to him through the small window, and he shakes his head, frowning at me. “I’ve told you half a dozen times, kid, you don’t have to pay me. My job is to open and close this gate and monitor who is coming in and out. I already promised you that I wouldn’t tell your father.”

The thing is, I don’t believe him. I don’t trust anyone who works for my father. If it came down to it, they’d throw me under the bus the moment their job was threatened. The money is merely a bonus, a helpful way to remind them to keep their mouth shut.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Bill, but I don’t trust anyone, including you, so take the money and consider it a form of assurance.”

He knows the score, yet he says the same thing every time I show up and slip him the money. He wavers only slightly and then quickly shoves the money into his pocket. I smile and wait as he slips out of the guardhouse and quietly opens the gate manually to allow me to slip through.

It's not a perfect system, and it requires several key elements all to coincide, but the effort is always worth it to see the smile on my mother’s face.

I jog up the long driveway and cut through the side yard to the back kitchen steps and the small door there. It’s never locked, as it isn’t today either when I turn the handle and slip inside. If any of the other staff see me, they won't think anything of it. Very few know how tightly my father regulates my visits.

My hands are tacky as I rub them on my jeans, moving quickly. It's been far too long between visits, and I feel like a piece of shit for not seeing her sooner, but with school, football practice, and my commitments to The Mill, it’s been difficult to sneak away.

Guilt chews up my insides as I walk down the long hallway leading to my mother’s suite. The walls are adorned with photos of our family, the three of us. The images portray us to be some big happy family, but I know better. I do my best not to look at them as I pass by. It’s all a sham, a fucking lie. At the end of the hall, I turn left and enter her wing of the house. Since my mother’s illness progressed, my father felt it would be best for her to move to the other side of the house, so now they occupy separate wings. Probably so he can get away with fucking whatever whore it is he brings home.

Anger simmers in my gut, and I tamp it down when I enter her bedroom. I won’t let my thoughts of him become a dark spot on this visit. The nurse glances at me as I enter and gives me a nod before going to the other door across the room to give us some privacy.

I haven’t even reached my mother’s bedside, and she’s speaking. “Andrew Bryan Marshall, you better stop right there and explain why it's been so long since you've visited. I know school and football are important, but I can't exactly come to you. I might be sick, but I’m still your momma, or have you forgotten that?”

The sting of her words makes it difficult for me to feel anything but guilt and shame. I throw myself into the chair next to her bed and reach my hand out to her, intertwining our fingers gently. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to wait so long. It's just been nonstop at school. I haven’t forgotten you. How could I possibly do that?"

I give her a genuine smile, one that I save only for her. As always, without any further prompting, she nods like she forgives me and simply moves on. "What are you studying this year? Besides girls and parties?"

I let out a snort and rearrange my grip on her fingers so I don't hinder the IV on the back of her hand.

"It's not like that. I'm the president of The Mill this year."

Her eyebrows fly up her face, and she gives me a wan smile. Her dark brown hair, threaded with gray, spreads over the pillows in soft waves as she shifts to her side. It’s grown out now at least. That’s a sign we’re headed in the right direction. "Oh don't tell me they’re still doing that wicked hunt in the woods? I never really understood the appeal."

My face heats, and I glance down at my feet for a minute. Nope. Not talking about that shit with her. I love my mom, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and I’m not about to get into a conversation about my fucked-up deviant fantasies.

"Oh, that I’m not sure about. What about you? How do you like the new medications? Do they seem to be helping?"

Her eyes drift closed for a second, and I scan the machines on the other side of her. It’s a full medical suite, gifted to her bymy doting father. It makes me sick every time I see it all. He's made the perfect cage for her with no exit. He doesn't give a shit if she actually recovers. In fact, it's in his best interest if she doesn't because then he can continue with his secretaries and his mistresses without any impediment from her. It’s sick and fucked up, and I hate that this is her life.

The weight of it all rests heavily on my shoulders, and if I had the means to make my father disappear and make this all end, I would, but I don’t. He’s far too powerful, and I can't make a single move until I have better leverage on him. Leaning over, I lay my head on the bed by her hand. There’s so much at stake here, but helping my mother get better is the most important thing. She's been sick for years, since before I went to college, and no matter what we try or what my father says he tries, she doesn't ever seem to be getting better.

I’ve asked the doctors numerous times and always get the same answer. It’s some form of aggressive cancer, but even with all the treatments and experimental drugs, there's been no change. My father refuses to allow me to attend any of the appointments, and any questions I have result in no answers and a beating from my father. Even Lee hasn’t been able to find my answers, and he’s damn good at hacking the systems. I’m starting to think my father asks them to do paper records instead.

I’ve learned quickly that asking questions gets me nowhere. Shifting, I look up into her deep brown eyes, grinning back at her when she smiles at me. With her other hand, she runs her fingers through my messy hair. The wind on the bike dried it, but it's not lying flat now. Not that I care.

"Tell me all about yourself. Do you have a girlfriend yet?"

I jerk at the question but resettle. "No, Mom. I don't have a girlfriend. I don't have time to date between The Mill and football, plus my classes."

She makes a humming noise at the back of her throat that sounds a little like she's calling me out on my bullshit.Fine.I’ll take the bait.

"There is one girl I think I'm interested in."

I don't share what I'm interested in her for because that aspect doesn’t really matter. A mere mention of interest is all my mother needs to glow. She has always been a romantic at heart. It makes me wonder how she ever ended up with a man like my father. The bubble of joy from the moment bursts in an instant when the hall door creaks open, and my father walks in. I guess I didn’t realize it was this late in the afternoon. I thought for sure we’d have more time together before he arrived home. His fingers work to loosen his tie, and I watch as the light on my mom's face dims. She still turns her smile to him. A fucking smile that bastard doesn't deserve.

"Andrew, we weren't expecting you today.” His tone is curious like he expects me to explain why I’m here.Obviously to see my mother, idiot.

I stand and pat my mom's hand tenderly. "It was a last-minute drop-in."

My father crosses the space, clamping my shoulder in his hand, his grip hard and heavy. "Do let us know next time, so we can make sure we're prepared to have you stop by."

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